<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Dragon's Blood, Bergamot &amp; Coumarin by Sunnybone</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460837">Dragon's Blood, Bergamot &amp; Coumarin</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnybone/pseuds/Sunnybone'>Sunnybone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Felix? Touch-starved? noooo, Grinding Like Horny Teens When You're Grown Ass Men, M/M, Perfume As Porn, Pining, So much frustrated pining</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 00:48:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,106</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunnybone/pseuds/Sunnybone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Felix and Sylvain are on market duty for Byleth when Sylvain takes it upon himself to teach Felix about perfume, in the interest of adding a 'weapon' to Felix's 'arsenal' for the day he wakes up and realizes Girls Exist.</p>
<p>Felix is fully aware Girls Exist, but unfortunately he is cursed with a crush on incredibly oblivious, <em>handsy</em> Sylvain.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>390</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Dragon's Blood, Bergamot &amp; Coumarin</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>My best friend dragged me for Being Horny For Nice Smells in my fics and I just had to Embrace It</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Felix hates market duty with Sylvain, because it always takes forever. When Sylvain’s not flirting with every woman who walks past while Felix grinds his teeth, he’s chatting and/or flirting with merchants who don’t even sell the goods on their supply list. Felix doesn’t see why Sylvain can’t just focus on finishing the shopping so that Felix can go and train in <em>peace</em>, far away from Sylvain and his infuriating womanizing.</p>
<p>“Oh, Gabrielle’s here!” Felix looks up from the list that’s been half-crumpled by his annoyed fingers to see Sylvain making a beeline for a stall showcasing an array of brightly colored and delicately formed glass bottles. There are also crates housing glass vials in separated cubbies, and Felix feels his lip curl; <em>perfume</em> is not on the list of supplies Byleth has sent them to pick up.</p>
<p>“Shop for frivolous trinkets for your <em>liaisons</em> on your own time, Gautier; I want to actually train at some point <em>today</em>,” Felix snipes when he gets over to the booth, and Sylvain snorts.</p>
<p>“<em>Liaisons</em>?” Sylvain cocks an amused eyebrow at Felix, who just scowls, and Sylvain smiles at him. It’s not one of his stupid fake ones, just something small and simple, and Felix can <em>feel</em> that smoothing over his bristles. “Don’t worry, Fe, I’m not buying presents for girls; this is for me.”</p>
<p>Now it’s Felix’s turn to snort. “Right, because you often go around smelling like a flower.” Sylvain rolls his eyes but doesn’t look up from where he’s checking over the vials in their cubbyholes.</p>
<p>“Must be nice to be so effortless about your appeal,” he says, and Felix wonders what the fuck Sylvain means by <em>Felix’s appeal</em>, but Sylvain continues before he gathers himself enough to demand an answer. “You really don’t know anything about perfumes, do you?”</p>
<p>“<em>Why</em> would I <em>ever</em> need to know about it, is it going to help me in battle?” he grumbles, and Sylvain turns his face from the vials to look at Felix with fond exasperation.</p>
<p>“You’ve really grown into a brat, y’know? Hard to believe you used to be so sweet and cute.” Felix goes red in a mix of fury and embarrassment, and Sylvain doesn’t make it any better with the slow smile arcing his mouth. “Okay. C’mere,” he says, lifting a hand and curling his fingers towards himself to beckon Felix closer, and Felix looks at the hand as though Sylvain just made an obscene gesture. Sylvain sighs. “I’m gonna teach you about this because it’s the best <em>weapon</em> you could have when it comes to wooing,” Sylvain’s eyebrow lifts again in a tease, “and some day some poor girl marrying you is gonna thank me.”</p>
<p>Normally, Felix would blow Sylvain off completely, because this is a stupid waste of time. He doesn't care about <em>wooing girls</em>. This is all the more frustrating with Sylvain standing there in front of him, friendly and handsome and <em>oblivious</em> to exactly how Felix feels and what Sylvain’s stupid face <em>does</em> to him. Thank the Goddess, because Sylvain’s obviously interested in <em>girls</em>, and Felix is the furthest thing from it. He’s not pretty or soft, he’s <em>a brat</em>, apparently. So, normally he would blow Sylvain off, but he can tell from the look on Sylvain’s face that he’s going to be <em>stubborn</em> about this, and he’s even worse than Felix when he really decides to dig his heels in.</p>
<p>So Felix huffs a sigh and steps closer. “Fine. <em>But</em>, when we’re done here, we stick to the list, no more detours. I’m sick of shopping and I want to <em>train</em>, already.” Giving in so quickly, even with an ultimatum attached, earns him another fond smile, and Felix covers the flip of his stomach with a scowl.</p>
<p>“It’s a deal. So,” Sylvain starts, his hands moving across the vials and lifting one or two to check labels, “perfume isn’t all just <em>floral scents for women</em>.” He’s looking down at the vials so he can’t see Felix staring at the way his nose crinkles playfully, the little grin; Felix still forces his eyes away, because why make this experience more torturous for himself? “It can be all sorts of things; fruits, woodsy smells, ocean air—there was a really interesting one that smelled like freshly tilled damp earth, but it wasn’t really my style.”</p>
<p>Watching Sylvain’s hands skim over the vials isn’t really helping Felix, either—Sylvain has nice hands, strong and callused from lance-work, lightly freckled from the Garreg Mach sun, and Felix knows from old experience that they’re warm and terribly gentle. Felix’s fists almost creak in frustration as he pulls his eyes up and lets them wander aimless across the colorful glass bottles on their display shelves. “Hey, Gabi, do you have—” Sylvain cuts off as the merchant points to a cubby a few crates over from where Sylvain is checking, and he nods gratefully as he moves towards it.</p>
<p>“I’m surprised you’re not flirting,” Felix grumbles, following Sylvain. The merchant—<em>Gabi</em>—is attractive enough. Short-cut brown hair and friendly blue eyes, and the sleeves of her shirt are rolled enough to show well-muscled arms. That thought sends his eyes traitorously back to Sylvain’s stupid, bare forearms, more freckled than his hands and sturdy with muscle—Sylvain snorts and that drags Felix’s attention back to his face just in time to meet his eyes.</p>
<p>“And piss off the only perfume source around?” Felix looks at him blankly, he’s almost forgotten his comment about flirting. Sylvain must interpret his look differently, because he launches into an explanation of the difference between <em>perfume</em> and <em>toilette</em> and <em>cologne</em>—differing concentrations of fragrance oil and carrier dilutants— and Felix <em>really</em> doesn’t care but it’s hard not to stare at Sylvain when he’s being this animated about something he actually enjoys instead of feigning idiocy. “Yeah, it’s a bit more expensive, but the quality is just worth it. It’s more economical.”</p>
<p>“You’re awfully invested in this,” Felix says, without even really thinking, and Sylvain’s answering shrug is almost <em>shy</em>, like he’s only just realized how he’s let himself show through his usual act. As if Felix hasn’t known him his whole life, doesn’t remember his true self under the veneer of useless vapidity. It’s no use pushing about it, though; Sylvain always plays dumb and avoids the subject, so Felix exhales silently and watches Sylvain finally select a vial from the cubby he’d been directed to.</p>
<p>Sylvain unscrews the lid and lifts the vial to his nose, gives a tiny sniff and smiles. He holds it out towards Felix, one hand holding the vial and the other lifting the lid just enough for scent to waft out, and Felix lifts a brow at him. “Come on, tell me what you think.” Felix isn’t sure he’s ever been good at that, too honest and open as a child, too blunt and abrasive as a man. But he rolls his eyes and leans towards the bottle to get a whiff.</p>
<p>It’s pleasant, surprisingly—spicy and warm, a bit like the incense the priests burn in the cathedral during services, but not so strong and cloying that it might give him a headache. On the second inhale he catches an underlay of bright citrus. Felix almost recognizes the smell, and his forehead crinkles as he tries to place it. He glances up at Sylvain, watching Felix expectantly and with a slight disappointment. “It’s...not bad. Kind of familiar,” Felix explains, and a little flicker of something peers out through the cracks in Sylvain’s facade before it smooths away into a little smile, close-mouthed and almost appeasing.</p>
<p>“Yeah, now gimme your wrist. Come on, Fe,” he says when Felix glowers, “just humor me? It won’t kill, maim, <em>or</em> weaken you, promise.” Sylvain’s face does this <em>thing</em>, this teasing, <em>pleading</em> thing, and Felix shoves a hand at him. He doesn’t move to assist Sylvain at all with the sleeve covering his wrist, but Sylvain only sighs and sets the vial back on the table before tackling the row of buttons tightening Felix’s sleeve. “<em>Such</em> a brat,” he murmurs fondly.</p>
<p>This is where Felix realizes he has made an incredible mistake. One of Sylvain’s hands cradles Felix’s wrist, thumb pressing into his arm to steady it and fingertips grazing Felix’s palm, while the other hand slips buttons free of their loops. His hands are <em>warm</em>, heat passing through the thin fabric, and impractically Felix almost expects Sylvain’s handprint to sear into his skin. Sylvain’s quick about the buttons, small and numerous as they are, and Felix bites his tongue against an acid comment about his skill at <em>undressing</em> people; why ruin his day more than this interaction already will, turning a burning distraction into a fight Sylvain hardly deserves?</p>
<p>Sylvain rolls the opened cuff of Felix’s sleeve back and away from his wrist, and then lets him go to retrieve the perfume. Felix’s skin feels too cool in the absence of Sylvain’s touch, like rolling out of warm blankets into a cold room. He tries to ignore it as he watches Sylvain lift the lid from the vial, tapping the applicator wand attached to the lid against the glass rim to detach a drip of the perfume. Felix holds his breath as Sylvain steadies his arm with a press of his index finger to the back of Felix’s hand, thumb burning in the center of his palm, the open vial cradled in Sylvain's other fingers.</p>
<p>Felix hates how such a simple thing can make his heart pound, as if they’ve never touched before, as if he’s never clasped Sylvain’s hand to hoist him up after a spar, or Sylvain has never thrown his arm over Felix’s shoulder like draping a coat on a prickly coat rack. Maybe it’s the prolonged nature of it, how close they stand together in the market, the publicity of any facial expression that might betray him, the <em>intimacy</em> of Sylvain swiping the perfume across his wrist.</p>
<p>“The oil warms to your skin,” Sylvain tells him, making two passes of the wand before capping the vial again and setting it aside. “As it heats, the scent can change, get more complex or mellow, things like that.” Felix figures it’s over, stares unimpressed at his damp wrist, until Sylvain turns back to him. “Normally I’d say rub your wrists together, but since you’re you,” and he glances pointedly at Felix’s other wrist, still buttoned safe away. Sylvain sighs, and then he murders Felix.</p>
<p>Sylvain lifts his own wrist and presses it careless against Felix’s, his free hand bracing Felix’s arm, and Felix wonders dumbly if Sylvain can feel his heart stopped by the electric jolt of Sylvain’s touch through their joined pulses. Felix maintains just enough presence of mind to clench his teeth against the noise that almost pops out when Sylvain rubs their wrists together in a little circle, and the <em>sound</em> that wants to claw its way out of him when Sylvain pulls away. For a moment, he can only stare at his wrist, blinking, and pray to the Goddess that his reaction to such a tiny intimacy isn’t too terribly obvious.</p>
<p>“Go on, smell the difference,” Sylvain says, and when Felix glances up at him he’s holding his own wrist near his face with a satisfied look. Felix tries to swallow in a very dry mouth as he thinks about the oil warmed between their skin, about the heat of his own body mingling with Sylvain’s and clinging there. He lifts his arm and brings his wrist to his nose, and the smell has gone warmer and softer and just slightly sweet, like breakfast syrup.</p>
<p>Felix thinks of times when Sylvain has slung his arm around Felix’s shoulder and pulled him in close, before Felix digs an elbow into Sylvain’s side because he likes being pressed against him too much and can’t afford to sink into it. He thinks of the rare times Sylvain is convinced to spar with him, locked hilt-to-lance and trying not to think about how beautiful Sylvain’s eyes are, honey-brown in their frame of long lashes, or fixate on the splash of freckles across his nose. He thinks of times Sylvain leans in close in class to whisper a joking comment, hot wet breath tickling his ear and neck, and the knowledge that if Felix just turns he could press his own mouth against Sylvain’s stupid perfect grin. Felix sighs.</p>
<p>“Right, I thought it was familiar.” Sylvain looks at Felix, expectant, and he rolls his eyes and huffs, “You always reek of this.”</p>
<p>“<em>Reek</em>?” Sylvain laughs, and Felix flushes because it’s <em>real</em>, the sound just a bit too loud. He tries to remember the last time he really made Sylvain laugh, not a snort or a chuckle but an honest <em>laugh</em>. “Must not reek too bad, huh?” Sylvain interrupts his thought, and he directs a pointed look at Felix’s wrist, still held to his nose. Felix’s ears go hot and he snaps his arm away from his face with a ‘tch’.</p>
<p>“I <em>said</em> it wasn’t <em>bad</em>,” he grumbles, and Sylvain smirks at him before turning to Gabrielle and passing over an <em>obscene</em> amount of coin for two vials of the perfume. “Goddess,” Felix says as they start to step away, moving towards the blacksmith and their <em>actual</em> errands, “you really need <em>two</em>? Do you <em>bathe</em> in it?” Sylvain snorts and gives him a sideways glance, as if Felix is especially dense.</p>
<p>“One is for <em>you</em>, in case you ever wake up one day and suddenly realize you’re interested in something other than swords.” And that twists Felix’s stomach, because he knows Sylvain means <em>sex</em>, but it soothes a little of his anxiety about being glaringly obvious about his attraction to Sylvain.</p>
<p>“I <em>have</em> other interests—”</p>
<p>“I don’t think cats and spicy meat count, Fe—”</p>
<p>They bicker in the comfortable way they’ve done for years as they finally get the shopping done, and Sylvain keeps his word about no more detours or stops to chat with girls along the way. After they deliver the supplies they’ve collected, Felix turns to head for the training grounds and Sylvain stops him.</p>
<p>“Here,” he says, and he tosses something at Felix, who catches on instinct—<em>bastard</em>, he knows Felix has fast reflexes, and Felix just glares down at the vial of perfume in his hand. “You <em>said</em> it wasn’t bad.” Felix’s eyes fall shut, and he pinches the bridge of his nose before letting out a long sigh. Normally he would argue—he <em>hates</em> admitting defeat—but Sylvain is strategic, always, even when he’s being reckless.</p>
<p>“Fine, I’ll take it,” and he glances up and then <em>away</em> because of Sylvain’s satisfied smile, “but only because arguing about it with you would waste more of my time.”</p>
<p>“Aww, but Felix, I love arguing with you.”</p>
<p>“Idiot,” he says, but there’s no real heat to it, and he can practically <em>feel</em> Sylvain smiling and watching him stalk away.</p>
<p>Felix does hold on to the perfume, though, even if he doesn’t use it and just shoves it away in a drawer in his room. He tells himself it’s because he’s not a wasteful sort, and the perfume had been <em>expensive</em>, and tries very hard to believe it.</p>
<p>+</p>
<p>Of course it comes back to bite him when, almost six years later, he directs Sylvain—who is half-naked and straddling Felix's lap on Felix's bed like some kind of incredible dream—to the bottle of oil he keeps in his bedside table for these sorts of situations. Almost always solo situations, considering the location, and especially since returning to Garreg Mach and being forced into close proximity with Sylvain again.</p>
<p>Sylvain makes a little triumphant noise and brings forth a glass vial, which they both stare at. It is not the bottle of oil, and Felix opens his mouth to say as much, but he can already see the recognition on Sylvain's face. "Huh. You actually kept it—used it, too." The vial is nearly empty, just the tiniest bit of scent in the very bottom, and Felix braces for teasing. Instead, Sylvain continues, far too casual, "Guess you found someone to woo after all, huh?"</p>
<p>It's the kind of thing Felix would normally brush off with a scoff and an eye-roll, but right now Sylvain is <em>in his lap</em>, hard against him through their pants, and his tone is so innocent that it trips right into fake. There's a small war in Felix, between embarrassment at the explanation for the perfume's use, and a possessive kind of triumph that <em>Sylvain Jose Gautier</em> is <em>jealous</em> over <em>Felix</em>.</p>
<p>In the end, what actually wins out is his love for Sylvain and a desire, which Felix is usually careful to hide, to reassure him; Sylvain has spent too long believing he can't be loved, can't be anyone's first choice, <em>only</em> choice.</p>
<p>Felix thinks about five years of war, of upheaval and then painful, grueling monotony. Five years of rarely seeing Sylvain, and always for purposes of battle, of bloodshed. Of being constantly lonely, of searching the bag of things he'd managed to bring from Garreg Mach and finding the perfume instead of the book he'd been looking for.</p>
<p>He thinks about how he had pulled off gloves and unbuttoned his sleeves and dabbed the oil on his wrists, remembering a sunny day in a market before a war. The slide of his own wrists together wasn't the same, electrifying shock, but the smell of the warmed perfume hit him like a battle axe to the chest. Citrus and spice and sweet syrup cracked through his ribs and all the softness beneath. He felt, for a tiny, brilliant moment, closer to Sylvain.</p>
<p>Felix had kept using the perfume after that—sparingly, because he couldn't even begin to imagine how to go about replenishing his supply. Not in the middle of a damn war, and not when he didn't even know what the scent was called, or if it was even commonly produced. But on days that were particularly hard, on mornings when he woke from nightmares, on nights when he was exhausted from being around his father and Gilbert, before setting out on especially dangerous missions… he would dab a tiny bit of the oil on and close his eyes and imagine it was Sylvain near him.</p>
<p>By the time he'd ridden for Garreg Mach and the class reunion, the vial was almost empty and the inside of his gloves carried a permanent reminder of Sylvain's scent from where the leather strapped close to his wrists.</p>
<p>Now, Felix sits on his bed with his shirt half rucked up his chest, hard against Sylvain's ass in his lap, pink and mussed from the way Sylvain had been kissing him before he'd gone for the oil, and he wonders if it's really so embarrassing considering where they've ended up. Probably not, but he still finds it hard to look at Sylvain when he answers, "Not really. It just. Reminded me of you."</p>
<p>There's silence, and he finally glances nervously up at Sylvain; the look on his face steals Felix's breath, open and affectionate and delighted. Felix recognizes the exact moment this knowledge becomes a weapon Sylvain is going to use to pry back Felix’s cracking armor and dig into his soft innards, the smirk that curls hot on Sylvain’s mouth and makes Felix shiver under him in anticipation—of pleasure or a blow or both.</p>
<p>Sylvain leans just the tiniest bit back, more of his weight bearing down on Felix’s aching, still-clothed cock, and opens the vial. He holds it under his nose for a second, eyelids drawing down, and murmurs, “Reminded you of me, hmm?” Felix’s fingers digging into Sylvain’s hips and his bitten-back whimper as Sylvain grinds his ass down is the only answer he gives. Felix watches with unblinking eyes and teeth digging into his lip as Sylvain dabs the perfume on his wrists and then swipes the little wand up his throat. Sylvain tilts his head and looks down at Felix through his eyelashes and just about murders him with, “Did you use it when you touched yourself? Imagine it was me fucking you? Or maybe you thought about fucking me open—”</p>
<p>Felix moans, “<em>Fuck</em>,” quite pathetically, but he can’t find it in himself to care about that with his <em>stupid cock</em> trapped under Sylvain’s ass with too damn many layers of cloth between them for how close he wants—<em>needs</em>—to be with Sylvain <em>right now</em>. His fingers scrabble at Sylvain’s hips, his thighs, and another needy noise worms out of him when Sylvain just flexes his thighs tight around Felix’s waist and rocks back on him again. Just sitting there, torturing Felix, waiting for an answer. “No,” he finally groans, and Sylvain looks disbelieving. It frustrates Felix into explaining, because he’s telling the truth. “I would’ve run out and I couldn’t get more.”</p>
<p>“You would’ve—<em>Felix</em>.” Sylvain’s eyes are dark and wide and he draws his tongue along his teeth even as he closes the vial of perfume and drops it off the side of the bed to thump and roll along the carpet. Felix can’t even track it with his eyes because Sylvain is pressing down into him, hands catching Felix’s jaw to tilt his head and kiss him, and Felix pushes back against him hungrily. "All that time, you missed me, huh?" Sylvain murmurs between kisses, hardly a question.</p>
<p>Felix can smell the perfume, warm and heady from Sylvain’s wrists and throat, and he growls and surges up, grinds into Sylvain even as his hands catch in soft coppery curls and <em>pull</em>. Sylvain’s head drops back with a stuttered moan of his name, and Felix wastes no time pressing his face to Sylvain’s throat, teething kisses down the column of it until he drops his nose into the hollow. "Idiot. Of course."</p>
<p>Warm hands on his sides, his waist, fingertips searing him, thumbs branding the skin along the waistband of his pants as Sylvain rocks down to meet Felix's thrusts, rutting like a pair of desperate teenagers, his head still tilted back and to the side when he says, "Biggest Fool in Fodlan, wasn't it?"</p>
<p>Fuck, but Felix loves him. Has loved him for years and still wouldn't have believed they could ever be <em>here</em>, so they're a perfect <em>pair</em> of fools. “Sylvain,” he murmurs, pressing another, softer kiss against Sylvain’s collarbone, over a scar he doesn’t know. Something that happened when he was not there, in the years when all he had were memories and the scent enveloping him now. It makes Felix softer, digs deeper into the gentle, tender core he’s covered in sharp steel and cool anger; he wants Sylvain, has always <em>wanted</em> Sylvain, whether it was to be comforted by Sylvain as children, or to comfort <em>Sylvain</em> now as men.</p>
<p>Felix lets Sylvain skim hands up his stomach and chest and lifts his shoulders when Sylvain tugs to divest him of his shirt. It makes even more of a mess of his hair, and Sylvain pulls the tie free and runs his fingers through dark strands. He slides his hand up Felix’s nape along his scalp, fingertips curling as he cradles Felix’s head and pulls him up for another kiss, less urgent, tender; Felix meets him with arms winding around Sylvain’s neck, an elbow bent to get his own hand back in Sylvain’s hair, scratching light along his scalp so that Sylvain shivers into their kiss with a little moan.</p>
<p>“Should probably take our pants off,” Sylvain says against his lips, little puffs of breath through a smile that burns his eyes whiskey and makes Felix melt.</p>
<p>“We still need that oil,” he answers on the tail of another kiss, swiping his tongue along tooth-marks he’d nipped into Sylvain’s bottom lip. Sylvain laughs, drops his head to Felix's shoulder, and Felix can tell it's not that anything is <em>funny</em>, Sylvain is just <em>happy</em>. It almost slips out of him right there, <em>I love you</em>, but he catches it. That would be too much—Felix can be vulnerable, but only <em>so</em> much without absolutely dissolving.</p>
<p>He thinks he might wind up saying it anyways when Sylvain lifts his head and the affection <em>blazes</em> in his eyes, and the next kiss is so soft it makes Felix's eyes sting. Sylvain can divest him of his armor with just a look, set him on fire with just a <em>look</em>, and that's why it's Sylvain, has always been Sylvain.</p>
<p>Felix decides that maybe dissolving into the haze of spice and sweet citrus, into the radiating warmth, into <em>Sylvain</em>, is something he can allow himself.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><ul>
<li>Dragon's blood: a red resin used in incense, with a spicy/sweet scent</li>
<li>Bergamot: A citrus fruit, with a bright/fresh scent</li>
<li>Coumarin: An aromatic compound from the tonka bean, with a sweet scent reminiscent of vanilla</li>
</ul>
<p>Sylvain, years down the line, when he is The Poor Girl Marrying Felix: Haha Thanks, Me</p>
<p>Thanks so much for reading!</p>
<p>Find me on twitter at <a href="https://twitter.com/AceMorningStar">@AceMorningStar</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>